Memoirs of a Birthday-child

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Well, one of my female friends' birthday is coming up, and she gave me this story... she wrote it shortly before her seventeenth birthday, and we edited it a little together. She wanted to tell her story, but prefers to remain anonymous, so she passed the rights on to me. Enjoy

Submitted: March 06, 2010

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Submitted: March 06, 2010

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I think my birthday was jinxed at some point in my life. Something always went wrong on my birthday. When I was little, it was just something small, a detail like a missing candle on the cake or someone who couldn’t come to my birthday party. Something that wouldn’t really make the red lights blink.
The only happy birthday I remember was my tenth birthday. Everyone who was invited showed up. Everyone was happy, even I, and everyone was smiling. It was a true miracle. I can’t remember any of the presents or how the cake tasted, but I remember the name of every child there. My cousin, a friend from a class below mine and all of my classmates. We must have been around thirty children and two adults, cramped up in my dad’s bachelor pad.
But then I got older.
I have almost no memory of my eleventh birthday. I remember being unhappy, because we had just moved to the other end of the country, and I was being bullied at my new school. I would go to that school for another five years. My mom allowed me to stay home that day.
On my twelfth birthday, I got my third period. This, perhaps, doesn’t sound that bad, except for the fact that no one had told me that I had started menstruating. I thought something inside me had broken. I remember stealing some of my mom’s pads and taught myself how to use them. But I remember that birthday because it wasn’t my mom who told me I had gotten my period. It was my stepdad.
For my thirteenth birthday, my mom said it was about time I invited the class over. I didn’t tell her, but when I gave out the invitations she had made, I told them all that if they showed up, I’d personally throw them out. There was only one person I wanted to see at my birthday party, and she was my best friend. I invited four other girls, from the other class and it was almost fun.
On my fourteenth birthday, I got my first boyfriend. One of the girls from the thirteenth birthday hooked us up. I wanted love, he wanted sex. She broke us up again, when the boy she liked turned her down.
On my fifteenth birthday, my biological father decided it was time he and I got reacquainted. I have three fathers, if you want to count them. The biological one, who left my mom when I was three months old and remarried when I was four. The one I call dad, who is the only one I actually think of as a father. He’s the only one who’s earned the right to call me his daughter. Then there’s my stepfather. Unimportant man who insists on pouncing on my mom whenever I’m near. Anyway, bio-papa wrote me a letter, telling me that I had a stepsister. Good to know it’s just me something’s wrong with, and that he can be a father if he really wants to.
I completely gave up on my sixteenth. No party, only my best friend and I in my room, watching a movie, eating candy. That was it. Not that I had held a party the year before, couldn’t find a reason to do so. My ex tried to get together again, said he didn’t want to go another year being a virgin. I told him to go screw himself.
And now it’s my seventeenth. No idea what’s going to happen, just know I don’t want to know. Think I’m gonna find some sedatives and sleep the whole day away.


© Copyright 2018 Jossie Deveroux Tchaikovsky. All rights reserved.

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